“I was anticipating rustic yet thoughtful cuisine, perhaps with a Tuscan edge,” said customer Robert Appleton, taking a dejected sip from his glass of room temperature Sprite. “A decent wine selection, maybe—or, God willing, a robust breadbasket with olive oil for dipping. Instead, they’ve got chicken tenders. Who are they trying to fool?”

“When I walked in, I scanned the room for wicker chairs, tasteful columns, and sprigs of fake ivy and saw nary a one,” added diner Patricia Woods, shielding her eyes from the TV above her head, which was broadcasting a football game at maximum saturation and volume. “Instantly, I got this sinking feeling in my stomach. And once I looked at the menu, which was just a single sheet of greasy, laminated paper—typeset in Calibri, no less—I knew it was game over. Honestly, I feel misled.”

At press time, a movie theater spelled “theatre” was still just showing Gladiator II.